


More Broken Than I Thought

by GodIsZombie



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Batfamily (DCU), Confused Tim Drake, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne’s Parent, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Dick Grayson, Tim Drake Has a Bad Time, Tim Drake Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodIsZombie/pseuds/GodIsZombie
Summary: Something was wrong with the demon brat.   And this, whatever this was, is so outside of Tim's wheelhouse.Damian has PTSD.  And a bad flashback teaches Tim a little more about his little brother.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 751





	More Broken Than I Thought

Tim is tired. Bone fucking tired. It had been a bad week all around, and every last bit of it seemed to have caught up with him today. And to make matters even worse, he was stuck babysitting the murderous brat tonight. 

The kid's grapple line had snapped during last night's patrol and he'd spiralled into a free fall ten stories straight down. Managed to catch himself with a second line two and a half stories before going splat. But the sudden snap of the line halting his momentum dislocated his arm in three places. And the none to gentle landing into a half frozen snow drift hadn't done the kid any favors either. Good news thought, the front tooth he'd spit out in chuncks when batman had gather him back into a sitting position ended up being a baby tooth. So no permanent damage there. Bad news, the vindictive glee Tim felt whenever he heard the distinct whistling in his newly gap toothed little brother's holier than thou speaches pointed to Tim being a little bit of a bad person. 

The demon bird was grounded. At least until he stopped walking with a limp and he could hold something heavier than a pencil in his right arm without it giving out on him. Tim was grounded too. Which is why he was currently on babysitting duty. But his transgressions were a lot less dramatic. Dick had caught him pouring handfuls of those little five hour energy drinks into a 50 ounce plastic cup from seven eleven. Again. And because Dick and Bruce were both notorious overreactors, they'd stubbornly decided he wasn't allowed back on the streets of Gotham until he had slept for at least eight hours. In a row. It was ridiculous. There was too much to do for this sleeping bullshit. But Tim knew from experience that neither of them would listen to reason when they got like this. It was easiest just to go along with them even if the whole thing was a colossal waste of time.

So here he was. Bone tied, banned from working, alone with a monster child who wanted to murder him on a good day, and unreasonably expected to tell said demon from hell he wasn't allowed to do something. Like he said, it was a bad week.

Tim was in the manor's kitchen drinking what his older brother and ambivalent father figure had deemed a "reasonably sized" mug of coffee. Technically he had been banned from having any caffeine. But if he was going to deal with the brat and his tantrums, without breaking B's no kill rule, he was going to need it.

They had just had their 17th argument about Damian going out tonight. Seventeenth. And Tim was starting to suspect the only reason his little brother hadn't stormed out of the kitchen yet was because he was too sore to get back up the stairs. So instead they both just stood there. On opposite sides of the kitchen. In stony silence. Doing their absolute best to grumpily ignore each other. Because that was fun. Tim could feel the angry tension ramping up into what would no doubt be another argument when IT happened.

Titus and Pennyworth (the cat) came charging into the kitchen, their clawed feet skidding across the well polished tiles. Titus had clearly done something to piss off his companion because the cat was chasing after him spitting and yowling. With the kind of rage you can only find in a cat that has been deeply wronged. The dog, for his part, just looked happy to be spending time with his friend. But he was still wise enough to know he should probably keep running. The lack of traction wasn't making it easy for the great hound however, and he inadvertently hip checked Tim as he went sliding by the teenager. The fluffy ball of rage hot on his heels. Both animals disappeared as quickly as they had come, bolting towards the butler's pantry that lead into one of their formal dining rooms. But the damage was already done.

Tim hadn't been expecting the blow. It didn't hurt, but it did throw him off balance. The coffee mug slipped out of his grasp. And before he'd even had the thought to catch it, it was already shattering across the kitchen floor. "Fuck!"

Tim was too preoccupied with the mess to see the way the sound of glass shattering illicited a full body flinch in Damian. Or the way the boy's eyes went wide and unseeing. But he did notice the sound of the kids breathing beginning to speed up. And the sort of shuddering quality that seemed to get worse with each exhale. He looked up to investigate his brother but the child turned around to face away from him. Almost like he was... hiding? Since when had Damian ever hid? Tim looked down and caught sight of his hands just beginning to tremmor before the kid quickly curled them up into tiny, white knucked fists. Had Damian always looked that small?

"Damian? Brat? You good over there?"

There was no response. Nothing. Not even a twitch of recognition. Almost as if Tim didn't even register. There was something wrong. And this, whatever this was, was so outside Tim's wheelhouse.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

All the stress, the pain, the terrible frustration of the last few days. All of it suddenly came crashing down, as if landing onto Damian's back from an impossible height. The blow so crushing it felt physical. Time slowed and he could feel the sound of the shattered cup dragging him backwards. He could feel his mind taking him back to a time he desperately didn't want to return to. Damian couldn't breathe properly. Couldn't control his body properly at all. He was shaking now, and grasping out one ragged little breath after another and he couldn't control it. Weak. Useless. Childish. He had to do better. Had to wrestle control of himself back before it was too late.

Drake was starting at him now, confusion painted clearly across his face. Damian couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand to be seen by anyone, but especially not by him. He quickly turned his back to the older boy. He wanted to leave, to escape to somewhere dark and quiet and small. Somewhere he could be alone. But his body wouldn't move any further. He felt weak and useless. Just the same as he had felt then.

The memories were coming quicker now. Solidifying in his mind's eye. Becoming more vivid, more real all around him. He couldn't stop it. He had to stop it. "It's not real." Damian whispered desperately to himself. Repeating the words over and over again. As if their repetition would give them power. Would stop this. 

But it was real. It had been real in the past. And it was real again now. He could see her face. Forever locked into the expression she had worn seconds after the cup had dropped. Stuck in that hopeless look of resigned terror the moment she had realized what was going to happen next. She knew she would die. And she knew it would not be a fast thing. And there was nothing any of them could do to change it. Damian had seen many terrible things in his short life. But that look. The look of inescapable doom that had clung to the little servant girl's face when she had dropped one of his grandfathers favorite cups. Well, that was certainly one of the worst. Somehow even the slow gore of her later punishments hadn't quite compared. She had been so young. No older than seven he thinks. Just learning to serve the Al Ghuls as her parents did. But still old enough to know what would become of her. Still old enough to know she couldn't escape.

And it had been all his fault. He wasn't disciplined enough then. Not far enough into his training yet. Not enough removed from his feelings yet. He had been so childish. So weak. She was the only other child in the palace, as much as any of them had been children, even then. And Damian had been unwise enough to enjoy her company. They had spent very little time together of course. He didn't even know her name. They were of different stations and it would have been improper. But still, there were the occasional quiet moments they were able to share in secret. The mischievous looks exchanged between each other while adults droned on and on above their heads. The little bites of bitter sweet chocolate he would pickpocket from the cooks, when he could, to leave in places he knew only she would find them. The extra pillow that she would somehow smuggle onto his bed after he endured particularly harsh punishments. It hadn't been friendship. But it had at least been something. 

And it was his fault she had died. Damian had felt daring. His mother and grandfather, their powerful generals, they had all been so distracted. So caught up in their coming war plans. He thought it had been safe. Though he could share one more secret moment with his almost friend. And so, when she came out that evening carrying his grandfather's tea tray in her tiny hands, Damian had smiled at her. Quick and partially hidden behind his napkin so as not to be caught. But she had seen it and even dared to smile back. Their sectet glee had been short lived. Damian had distracted her. She hadn't seen the edge of the carpet. Because of him. And she had stumbled. She righted herself, but the cup had fallen from the tray and shattered. She had died. And he had killed her. It was a very, very long time before Damian had allowed himself to smile after that. And once he did, he'd made sure it would only ever be a cruel mocking thing. Because in Damian's world cruelty was the only safe option. Safe for him, and safe for those doomed to endure the fond feelings he was never quite able to completely erase from his heart. 

Damian was well and truly lost now. The real world, the real time, was beyond his reach. All he could hear was the china teacup breaking again and again and again. All he could see was her frozen face. And it wouldn't stop. He just wanted it to stop. Allah make it stop. His mouth was moving but he couldn't hear the words and his grandfather was staring down at the broken cup. And she was going to die again. And it wouldn't fucking stop. 

And then there was a hand on his shoulder. And without even meaning to Damian began to fight.

~~~~~♤~~~~~

Tim was really starting to freak out. Damian was in some sort of... trance? And nothing he said was snapping the kid out of it. He stood stock still with his back to his brother, every muscle tense. Like a stretched out rubber band ready to break. And Tim was starting to worry that the little monster had finally fucking lost it.

This felt like the beginning of everything he had been warning his family about since the day that little gremlin had first tried to murder him. The first time, not the only time. God, if this kid really snapped they were all going to be so screwed.

Tim took a quick second to calm himself down. Don't panic. Don't jump to conclusions. Assess, come up with a plan, and execute it. He could do that. That was his thing. He should call Wing. If anyone could handle the brat it was him. Damian wasn't shy about letting everyone know who his favorite in the family was. But Tim didn't want to interrupt their patrol if he didn't have to. There were some high priority rouges on the streets right now. And while it was true Wing and B hadn't gone out tonight looking for anyone in particular that didn't exactly mean they wouldn't run into them while they were gone.

It was at around this time that Tim realized Damian was muttering to himself in farsi. Quietly repeating the same handful of words over and over again. "It's not real, it's not real, it's not-" That's it. Tim was calling. He'd stay off the comms just to be safe, but a message to Oracle should get his older brother here as soon as he's able to leave the field. He fishes a wrist computer out of the pocket of his pajama pants and types up a quick message to Babs.

"RR to NW. Requesting bank up. Time sensitive. About Damian."

Babs responds almost immediately.

"Emergency?"

Tim hesitates. He's not entirely sure. Might as well answer honestly.

"Undetermined."

He doesn't get another response. Doesn't expect one. So he drops the computer back into his pocket. Wing would be here as soon as he could. The man fussed over the boy like a worried mother. Speaking of, he refocused all of his attention on the kid in front of him. Ok. What next? What would Dick do? 

For lack of anything else to try, Tim started talking to Damian again. This time softly mumbling his words. Doing his very best to sound reassuring instead of stressed. "Hey, ok Damian. Look. I'm not really sure what's going on right now, but i'm going to try and help ok? Can you tell me what's going on?"

Nothing, just like before.

"Ok. That's... fine. I'm going to. Um. It's ok. I'm going to start moving towards you. Ok? I'm not a threat so don't freak. Everything is ok. I called Dick! He's on his way. I'm just coming over to, to check on you." 

True to his word Tim started slowly walking over to the still shaking Damian, arms raised and making as much noise as he could. Still no reaction. He stopped about a foot away from the boy's back and froze. Ok. Now what? He should be, brotherly. He guessed. It's what Dick did. Tim reaches up and slowly puts what he hopes is a reassuring hand on Damian's shoulder. 

AND the brat is immediately swinging with a wild left hook. Rolling with the momentum of his swing so that he spins to face his opponent. And fuck. Ok, they're fighting now. Or at least Damian's fighting. Tim's just dodging backwards as best he can. There's a second after the first hit when Tim is convinced that every horrible thing he ever thought about the gremlin is coming true. But it's only a second. Because this isn't the terrible little brother he knows. Not right now. The kid's strikes are wild, undisciplined, almost uncoordinated. Nothing like Damian's usual precision. And it's not just because of his injuries. There's none of his usual banter either. No, "I'm the blood son," or, "you're a miserable failure and no one loves you Drake." 

But more than anything Tim knows it by his eyes. The kid's eyes are just, wrong. His face is terrified. Scared in a way he's never seen the demon before. Scared in a way he didn't even know the demon was capable of. But his eyes are somewhere else. Somewhere bad. Like he can't even see the guy he's swinging at.

As Tim continues to retreate he starts to hear a crunching noise and takes a second to look down. They've made their way across the kitchen and are back to the broken mug that started this whole thing in the first place. Tim's wearing slippers. He'll be fine on the broken glass. But Damian is barefoot. The kid tries to take advantage to his brother's momentary distraction with a leg sweep. He drops down into a crouch and sweeps his leg along the ground in a low kick, aiming to take out the teenagers ankles. It doesn't work. In the process however he embeds the palms of his hands, and runs his already injured leg across the broken glass. He doesn't even seem to notice when he comes up bloody. A large triangular shard of the "world's greatest bat" mug stuck half inside the center of his palm.

Tim flinches and quickly makes up his mind. Whatever this is, he's got to stop it now before it gets worse. He slips behind Damian as he finishes righting himself. Grabs and lifts him into a backwards bear hug. Locking his hands together across the front of the boy's chest and pinning his arms to his sides. The kid immediately starts thrashing and swinging his legs in an attempt to either take out a knee or kick him where it will really hurt. So Tim tightens his grip and plops down onto the kitchen floor. Holding damian still in his lap while he wraps his own legs around his little brother's, effectively pinning those as well. It's a sloppy grapple, but it should hold. The little monster starts thrashing harder, more desperately. But he's not budging. And just when Tim starts to feel pretty confident that he'll be able to hold him until help arrives the kid learns forward and slams the back of his head into his older brother's nose for his trouble. He feels something crack and, yep, another broken nose. Great. Tim is going to end up looking like Owen Wilson by the time he turns 18.

Tim's indignant shout is cut off when the fight seems to partially drain out of his brother. He's still trying to get away, but it's less violent now. And his whole body is shaking. The farsi starts up again. But it's going too fast for Tim to keep up with. Whatever he's saying, it sounds like he's begging. The kid is hyperventilating and shaking and so, so scared. And Tim still doesn't know why. It keeps up for a couple more agonizing, heartbreaking minutes. Tim tries his best to sooth him, even gently rocking them back and forth, but it doesn't seem to help. He keeps his hold firm and tries to ride it out as best he can. Hoping the whole time he's not making whatever this is worse. 

And eventually, just as Tim is starting to get desperate, just as he's really starting to feel like some sort of terrible monster, Damian suddenly goes limp in his arms. Like a puppet who's strings have been cut. The teenager worries a few seconds, unsure what this means, unsure of what to do next. But ultimately lands on cautiously loosening his grip. And as soon as the other boy has enough slack to get out he flinches away from Tim's touch. Tim is ready for another fight but Dami doesn't do much of anything else. Just sort of skitters a little distance away before going eerily still. Tim keeps a careful eye on the kid, but it's like he's shut down completely now. Like there's nothing of Damian inside anymore. 

Tim's a little shocked with himself when he realizes just how much it hurts. How much his chest seems to ache at the sight of it. He looks so empty and small. So wrong. The little boy, because that's what he is now, sits completely still, eyes blank and locked onto the floor in front of him. He's not scared anymore. But he's not anything else either. And for the first time since meeting the little monster, he realizes how young he really is. Tim desperately wants to hold him. To gather him up in his arms, hide him away from the world, and tell him that everything is going to be ok. He wants to make everything be ok for this kid. But he doesn't want to make this worse. He doesn't know what to do. And he really wants his dad and big brother right now. Because as loathe as he is to admit it, he's kind of a kid still too.

~~~~~■~~~~~

Dick is jumping off his bike before it even comes to a full stop. And immediately winces as it loudly crashes to the ground behind him. Probably should have waited till it stopped. But there isn't really time for that. And whatever damage the bike might have taken in the fall was repairable. It was just a thing.

Tim and Damian on the other hand, well... Tim had called him for help with their youngest bird. Which wasn't a normal occurrence. Not since the murder attempts stopped. It meant something was really wrong. And Dick, might be panicing over the state of his baby. Brother, he reminded himself. His baby brother. He hadn't even remember to say goodbye to B until he was half way to the cave after Oracle buzzed him on the comms.

Dick ran to the lockers, stripping out of his Nightwing gear as he went. With all the grace and speed of any other grown man struggling out of a skin tight latex body suit. Which is to say absolutely none. It took him a hell of a lot longer than he would have liked.

By the time he made his way upstairs in a pair of worn gray sweatpants the kitchen had gone quiet, so he gave himself a second to take in the scene. The broken glass on the floor, the two boys sitting near but not touching, also on the floor. Tim looked scared and unsure, Damian's hands and feet were both bleeding sliggishly (not bad, not enough to really worry), and the look on his face was... Damn it. Dick knew that look. Dick knew what this was. Tim turned to look up at him as he lingered just inside the door frame. Pinning Dick down with a look that seemed so lost. But so determined to help. And Dick could help but feel proud. Damian though, he kept his eyes locked into the floor in front of him. Not that Dick really expected anything else. He knew it would be at least a few more hours before the boy was ready for eye contact. God above this must have been a bad one. 

He did his best to look reassuring. To look brave and capable and strong. To pretend to be all the things his little brothers saw in him as he said, "hey Timmy-bird. You ok?"

Dick moved forward into the room and settled himself between his brothers while Tim launched into a quick explination of what happened that ended in, "is he ok? What do we do?"

Dick sighed. "Yeah, Dami is... we think it's complex PTSD. We're not sure but..." he ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. This was always so damn hard. "He still won't talk about most of it. Not even with me. But sometimes he gets these flashbacks... sometimes he can pull himself out of it. But other times it's like it just overwhelms his system and he shuts down." Dick chuckled humorlessly before adding, "God! The first time it happened I got so scared I threw up."

Tim's eyes narrowed, "the first time? Why didn't I know?"

Dick flinched. "I'm sorry Timmy. I probably should have told you but... It's so hard to earn his trust. He's still learning how you know? It felt wrong to share his secrets. I couldn't do that to him. Not after everything else he's already been through. And I didn't really think anyone else had to know. It used to be bad, especially after we lost Bruce, but things have been getting a lot better you know? He hasn't had an episode in a while and I thought...I hoped... Every time it happens I think, maybe this will be the last one you know? Dami has already come so far. He's worked so hard to heal himself... and he's so fucking strong. You can't believe how strong. I always think... Maybe this will be the time."

Tim deflated and turns back to face his other brother. "Can he hear us?"

"Kind of. He knows we're talking. He'll respond to a direct order... for the most part. As long as it's nothing too complicated. But he's not really here right now. We don't feel real to him right now. HE doesn't even feel real to him right now. And he probably won't remember much of it later."

"How do we get him back? What do we DO?"

"We wait. We wait until he's ready to come back. And we make sure we're with him when he does."

"And in the meantime?"

Dick smiled. His boys had both come so fucking far. They were amazing. "In the meantime let's get all that glass out of him. We can patch him up and make sure he didn't accidentally aggrivate any of his injuries. And we do whatever we can to let him know he's safe."

"But..." Tim hesitated, clearly afraid to hear the answer to his question. "He will come back right?"

"Yeah," Dick smiled, "he'll come back."


End file.
